


Burning Up

by Hazel_Athena



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-15 13:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19617322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: Liz goes quiet for a bit, but then sighs in a way that suggests she’s frustrated. “He’s sick,” she repeats. “Not hurt. He and I have been studying the effects of that pollen with Kyle’s help, and it looks like whatever aspect of it suppresses their powers also suppresses the immune system. He’s got the flu.”“The horror,” Alex says dryly, relieved it’s something so mundane.





	Burning Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crazy4malex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazy4malex/gifts).



> My entry for the Crashdown exchange fest. Written for crazy4malex who prompted either Malex reuniting after the season one finale, Michael thinking he doesn’t deserve to be loved, or Michael being a giant baby while sick.
> 
> I kind of wound up combining all three and hope you enjoy :)

Alex isn’t expecting it when his phone starts buzzing early in the morning, and he’s expecting it even less when he glances down and finds Liz’s number flashing up at him. They haven’t talked much lately, what with her being caught up with a recently resurrected Rosa and an even more recently resurrected Max, effectively leaving him to do his own thing.

Concerned, he picks up the phone to bring it to his ear, hoping this isn’t going to be a call about an emergency.

“Hello?” He tries, and the relived noise Liz makes on the other end of the line does nothing for his nerves.

“Good, you’re there,” she says. “I need your help.”

Alex can already feel himself sitting up straighter. Mentally, he starts tallying up all the potential incidents that could have occurred, considering contingency plans for how to deal with them. “What happened?”

“Michael’s sick,” she replies, which is such an unexpected non-sequitur that Alex blinks.

“Define sick,” he says after a few moments of silence have ticked past. From what he understands, Michael and his siblings don’t get sick. It’s part of their whole deal, and he’s had to listen to Kyle wax poetic about it on more than one occasion until the doctor had inevitably remembered who he was talking to and then trailed off awkwardly. “You mean he’s hurt?”

No matter their current circumstances, the idea of Michael being injured doesn’t sit well with Alex. Regardless of how they’d parted ways, he knows full well there’s no chance he won’t go rushing to the other man’s side if he needs him. Even worse, Liz knows it too.

She goes quiet for a bit, but then sighs in a way that suggests she’s frustrated. “He’s sick,” she repeats. “Not hurt. He and I have been studying the effects of that pollen with Kyle’s help, and it looks like whatever aspect of it suppresses their powers also suppresses the immune system. He’s got the flu.”

“The horror,” Alex says dryly, relieved it’s something so mundane.

“For him it kind of is,” Liz shoots back. “Think about it. He’s never been sick a day in his life before, never had so much as a sniffle. He’s miserable, uncomfortable, and, I’m sure he’d deny it, but also a little scared.”

“Okay, fine,” Alex says, trying and failing not to feel guilty. “What are you calling for then?”

“Because he needs someone to stay with him,” she says, continuing on without giving Alex a chance to cut in. “Kyle and I can’t do it because we’re examining the pollen to make sure there’s no further effects, Max and Isobel can’t do it because Michael might be contagious and we don’t want them going down for the count too, and Maria can’t do it because ... well.”

Because Maria had been belatedly clued into the fact that aliens existed and hadn’t taken being kept out of the loop well. She and Michael had ended as quickly as they’d begun, and from what Alex hears they’re still not back on speaking terms.

He sighs. “None of that explains why you’re calling me.”

“Alex, don’t be stupid,” Liz says, and he can easily picture the exasperated look on her face. “I know you two are being all weird about each other right now, but you know full well why I called you. Someone has to stay with him, and you’re the only option.”

“I really don’t,” Alex replies. “He’s not going to want to see me, whether or not I want to see him. Find somebody else to play babysitter.”

“I’ve just explained in great detail why there is nobody else,” Liz tells him, starting to sound legitimately annoyed. “Also, the idea of the two of you not wanting to see each other is complete bullshit, and we all know it.”

Alex scowls even though she can’t see him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, trying not to care that he doesn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.

“Uh huh,” Liz says dismissively, speaking in a way that Alex just knows means she’s about to hang up on him. “He’s at the airstream; dropping him off there was the only thing he’d let me do for him. I expect you there within the hour.”

Then, as anticipated, she simply shuts her phone off, leaving Alex staring at the cabin wall, wondering what the hell just happened.

*****

He heads for the airstream, of course he does. Liz is right, someone needs to keep an eye on Michael, if only to make sure he doesn’t develop anymore unanticipated side effects from the pollen, and Alex, no matter how much he might claim otherwise, is the best available option.

He repeats those words to himself like a mantra when he comes to a stop in the junkyard.

He doesn’t see Michael’s truck outside the trailer, and momentarily panics that the man has taken off against orders. Then he remembers Liz saying she’d dropped Michael off at home herself. Presumably she’d done that in her own vehicle, likely leaving the truck behind at her lab.

Telling himself he’s out of excuses not to go in, Alex climbs down from his rig and cautiously approaches the airstream. He thinks he can hear movement inside, a sound that soon transforms into that of someone being noisily sick.

Not bothering to knock, Alex yanks open the door to find Michael half in and half out of the tiny chamber that serves as the airstream’s bathroom, expelling the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

“Gross,” he says because it is.

He didn’t think he’d spoken that loudly, but it must have been loud enough. Michael’s back stiffens, and as soon as he’s able to, he leans backwards to look up at Alex, wiping his chin with his sleeve at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving you from yourself, apparently,” Alex retorts. Michael looks absolutely awful. He’s sweaty and glassy eyed, clearly feverish if the way he’s shaking is anything to go by, and even his hair has gone limp. “Christ, Guerin.”

Michael scowls at him, but the effect would be a lot more convincing if his attempt to stand didn’t see him wind up right back on his ass again. “Fuck,” he breathes, letting his head fall back against the bathroom door. “Can this day get any worse?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Alex replies. Against his better judgement, he leans forward to offer Michael a hand up. “Come on, you don’t want to wait this whole thing out on the floor. Take it from someone who’s actually had the flu once or twice.”

“Liz called you, didn’t she?” Michael says, and instead of taking Alex’s hand, he eyes it like he’s half expecting to get bitten. “It was either her or Valenti, and I honestly don’t think he’s that stupid.”

“You calling Liz stupid?” Alex asks.

“No,” Michael replies curtly. “But Valenti knows I’d kick his ass for butting into my personal life, while she couldn’t care less.”

“That does sound like her,” Alex agrees. He waves his hand in Michael’s face. “Now let me help you.”

Michael glares for a little while longer, before finally heaving out a put upon sigh and ignoring the offer. Pushing to his feet, he takes a couple of shakey steps and then moves to his bed.

“There,” he says after faceplanting into the threadbare mattress. “I’m no longer about to pass out on the floor. You can leave me alone now.”

Alex surveys the trailer. He takes in the mess, the tiny, uncomfortable bed with the rumpled bedding, the fridge which appears to be on the fritz again, and the cupboards that are bare of anything even vaguely resembling nutritional value. He sighs.

“Not happening.” He says. There’s no way he’s not going to wind up regretting what he’s about to do, but that’s not stopping him. “You’re coming home with me.”

*****

Michael protests the entire time Alex is forcing him from the airstream to his truck. He insists in great detail that he’s fine, and has everything he needs in the trailer; that he can take care of himself.

It’d be much more convincing if he didn’t have to pause mid-rant to throw up all over the ground.

“And that’s why we’re leaving,” Alex says while he’s dry heaving over a puddle of what mostly looks like bile. “My cabin might be sparse, but it’s at least a better option than this.”

“I don’t see how,” Michael mutters, but the fight must have gone out of him because he’s downright docile when Alex loads him into his truck.

Once he’s safely secured in the cab, Alex goes back to fill a duffle bag with some of Michael’s clothes. They look like they haven’t seen the inside of a washing machine in a bit, but that can be dealt with in the cabin.

He has to stop twice during the drive to let Michael out to get sick again, and at this point he’s honestly starting to worry about things like dehydration. There’s no way Michael has anything left in his stomach by now, even though his body seems to think otherwise.

After the second time, Michael makes no move to unfurl himself from his hunched over position, and Alex places a comforting hand on his back without thinking about it. It’s the first time they’ve touched since the last night in Michael’s trailer, since the night everything had changed so dramatically, and it’s strange for how not strange it is.

“Hey,” he says quietly, starting to rub his hand back and forth in a soothing motion. “I know you feel like shit, but you can’t sit on the side of the road until this is over. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Michael doesn’t say anything, but he does let out a whine when Alex pulls his hand away. It’s only after this that he gets back in the vehicle.

Once inside, he ignores Alex’s pointed glances at the seatbelt, and leans forward until he can rest his head on the dash. “This sucks,” he tells the console. “How do people survive feeling like this?”

“Well most people start experiencing it at a younger age and develop a tolerance to it,” Alex says philosophically. He considers giving Michael another pat, but in the end restarts the truck instead. “Maybe we’re just better at it.”

“What, you want a prize?” Michael grunts, and Alex huffs out a laugh.

“Nah,” he says. “I’ll settle for you not puking during the rest of the ride.”

By some miracle that’s exactly what happens, and they reach the cabin without further incident. Alex gets out first, tossing the bag he’d packed over one shoulder, before proceeding around the other side to get Michael out.

“You want a hand?” He asks, slightly worried when the other man makes no move to get out on his own, but rather stays slumped in his seat. “Michael?”

There’s a heavy pause while Michael turns to look at him, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, fine,” he says eventually, and he’s surprisingly calm when Alex grips his arm to help him out of the truck.

He puts more and more of his weight on Alex as they make the short trek up the driveway, a fact that’s concerning due to the way it seems to indicate he’s growing weaker. By the time they’re actually inside, Alex marches him straight to the bedroom, determined to get him somewhere he can rest.

Grateful for the fact that neatly making his bed is one military habit he’s yet to let go of, Alex deposits Michael in a chair so he can go turn down the covers. Once that’s done, he comes right back for him, wanting to get him horizontal as soon as possible.

“Okay, strip,” he says when he has Michael actually in the bedroom. “You’ve sweated through what you’re wearing,” he adds when Michael visibly balks. “We need to get you into something clean.”

Michael snorts, the motion causing him to sway where he stands. “I saw what you brought from my trailer,” he says while Alex hovers nearby to catch him if he falls. “None of it’s clean either.”

Alex considers this. “We’re close in size,” he says finally. “We’ll put you in something of mine for now, and I’ll run a load of wash after you’re settled.”

His suggestion gets him a few more feeble protests, but Michael’s frankly too weak to do much more than verbally complain. Within a few minutes Alex has him decked out in his own pyjamas and bundled beneath the bedcovers.

“You good?” Alex asks when all is said and done.

He gets a nod and another expression he can’t read in response, and figures that’s the best he can hope for. Deciding to leave Michael to his own devices, he heads off to deal with the laundry issue, stopping only to retrieve a bucket from under the sink since that’s probably easier than Michael running for the bathroom each time.

Since Michael a) doesn’t strike him as someone who cares about sorting his laundry and b) has a wardrobe that is roughly ninty percent ratty white t-shirts and stained jeans, Alex dumps the whole lot in the machine without bothering to sort it. He does root through any pockets he sees first, on the off chance Michael’s left anything important in them, but that’s the extent of his effort.

Once that’s done he checks in on Michael, finds him conked our in bed, and then heads for the kitchen. He’s not hungry himself, but at some point Michael will wake up again, and the amount of times he’s thrown up already suggest it’s going to be a good idea to try and get something in his stomach.

Alex has a couple boxes of crackers stacked away in the pantry from his last grocery run, and a case of Gatorade which might come in useful. Neither of those are overly substantial, however, so he decides to make some soup, figuring that if Michael sleeps for longer than he’s expecting, he can always reheat it later.

As it turns out Michael does not do this, and Alex has to turn down the pot he has simmering on the stove when he hears the telltale sounds of someone being sick yet again. Grabbing one of the bottles of Gatorade, he shuffles carefully towards the noise.

Easing the bedroom door open, he finds Michael hunched over the side of the bed, groaning miserably as he spits into the bucket Alex had left behind. He looks up as Alex arrives, and then flops backwards onto the mattress. “This is so fucking embarrassing.”

“There’s nothing wrong with needing help, Guerin,” Alex tells him sternly. Never mind that he himself is a terrible excuse for a patient whenever he winds up in someone else’s care. “Now sit up and try to drink some of this. Your fluid levels are probably getting dangerously low.”

Michael squints at the brightly coloured bottle in his hand. “The hell is that?”

Alex holds the bottle up so he can see it better. “What? Do you not recognize it because it isn’t booze?”

Michael’s face falls, his expression turning miserable for reasons that have nothing to do with his illness, and Alex winces. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean anything by it. Sorry.”

“S’okay,” Michael shrugs. “I know you’re pissed, I get it. Thanks for coming to get me anyway.”

Sighing, Alex walks carefully around the bucket on the floor so he can perch on the edge of the bed and help Michael sit up against the pillows. “I’m not pissed,” he says because he’d segued from pissed to maudlin to resigned weeks ago. “I’m just naturally sarcastic, you know that.”

“Sure,” Michael says. “Right.”

Ashamed, Alex holds up the bottle as a sort of peace offering. “Will you at least try and take a few sips?” He asks, waggling it in his hand. “It’s blue, which I can say from experience is the best flavour.”

Michael gives him a look that suggests he’s lost his mind, yet thankfully accepts the bottle. He cracks it open and takes a few sips, then a few more when they don’t immediately come back up. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” Alex assures him. Eyeing him critically he wonders if he’s running a fever. He’s sweaty and shaky, which seems to indicate he probably is.

Without thinking, Alex leans forward to press a kiss to Michael’s forehead, just like his mother used to when he was little and she wanted to check his temperature. “Damn,” he says. “You definitely have a fever. Will Tylenol work on you?”

He looks down and finds Michael staring back at him with wide eyes. “Guerin?” He tries when Michael continues not to answer. “Tylenol?”

Michael blinks. “Um,” he stutters, “I don’t - I don’t know? I’ve never been sick before, remember?”

“Right, yeah.” Sliding off the bed, Alex gets to his feet with little difficulty. “I left my phone in the kitchen. I’m gonna grab it and call Kyle to see what he thinks we should do. I’ll check on the soup while I’m in there.”

“Soup?” Michael echoes, like it’s a foreign word he’s never heard before. “What soup?”

“I’ve got a pot going on the stove,” Alex tells him. “If you can handle it, you should probably eat something.”

“Oh,” Michael says, and Alex isn’t sure whether it’s the fact that somebody cooked for him or simply the idea of food period, but he looks like he’s being introduced to a novel concept no matter what. “What kind?”

“Chicken noodle,” Alex replies. Then he grins. “Sometimes I do like to go for the stereotypes. Drink more of that Gatorade, please.”

He leaves while Michael is still frowning in confusion, marching out into the hall and then down towards the kitchen where both his phone and the meal are waiting. Grabbing the former, he takes a quick look at the latter, pleased to find it hasn’t burnt during the time he was with Michael.

Stirring it idly, he selects Kyle’s number in his phone. The doctor picks up on the third ring, and they then proceed to have a conversation about meds that essentially boils down to, “Fuck if I know, Manes, but it probably can’t hurt. Either that or it’ll poison him. One or the other.”

Not liking the sound of that, Alex reconsiders his earlier stance on Tylenol. “If I can’t give him drugs, what do I do?”

“Keep him hydrated and maybe think about a sponge bath,” Kyle says helpfully. Alex can just picture the tiny smirk on his face. “Those should do the trick.”

Alex hangs up in disgust not long after, and goes back to the soup. It’s ready in short order, so he tips a portion of it into a bowl, blowing on it to cool it as he sets it on a tray he keeps near the stove.

“You still alive in here?” He asks as he edges carefully around the door to the bedroom, not wanting to spill anything. “Or am I now dealing with a corpse?”

“Still alive,” Michael confirms. He gives Alex a weak smile from where he’s propped up against the pillows. “And hey, I haven’t puked for ten whole minutes.”

“I’m very proud,” Alex says solemnly. “I brought you soup.”

“I noticed. I guess I can try and eat some.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Alex says. He rests the tray in Michael’s lap, and then leans back to watch what happens.

Michael pauses with the first spoonful about halfway to his mouth. “You don’t have to stay with me, you know,” he says slowly. “I promise I won’t actually keel over and die if you look away.”

Alex doesn’t bat an eye. “As I recall, we’ve already established that I don’t look away where you’re concerned.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, he knows that as the words are leaving his mouth, and this belief is further solidified when Michael loses his grip on the spoon, dropping it back into the bowl with a harsh clink.

“Don’t,” Michael says. “You can’t say things like that. It’s not fair.”

Alex closes his eyes and exhales slowly through his nose. When he opens them back up again, it’s to find Michael staring at him. “You can’t tell me how to feel, Guerin,” he says quietly. “You can decide how you handle it on your end, but that’s mine.”

“Yeah, but you’re twisting it,” Michael says. “Making it seem like ... like ...”

“Like what?” Alex counters. “Like I love you? Because that’s not exactly news, is it?”

Michael stares at him with wide eyes, and in the back of Alex’s mind he starts to get the nagging sense that maybe it is news. At least for him. “Come on,” he says weakly. “You knew that.”

Mutely, Michael shakes his head.

Suddenly it’s as if Alex is the one who’s too weak to stand up. Lurching to the side, he sags into the chair he keeps near his bed in the event that he needs to sit when dealing with his prosthetic.

“How?” He asks. “How could you not know?”

Michael becomes very interested in his soup. “You used past tense that day you said you knew about me, and in Caulfield you’d have said anything to make me leave.”

“Yeah,” Alex stresses, “because I love you.”

As first time love confessions go, this one is less than ideal. Michael continues refusing to meet his eye, and it’s almost as if he starts to shrink in on himself. “You don’t.”

“What do you mean I don’t?” Alex echoes. “That’s not up to you. You don’t have a say in the matter. How I feel is how I feel. Damnit, I knew I should have pushed harder to come talk to you after the day you stood me up.”

Michael does a full body wince. “That’s why,” he mumbles. “Even if you loved me before, you can’t after that.”

“Yes,” Alex says firmly, “I can. The stunt you pulled with Maria didn’t change my feelings, Michael. It just made them hurt.”

Now Michael makes a little wounded noise and curls in on himself. Belatedly, it occurs to Alex that it’s unfair of him to be doing this at a time when Michael is too sick to run away, but on the other hand, he doesn’t doubt that Michael would bolt if he were able.

He sighs. “This is why we need to talk,” he says softly. “You and I have so much shit to sort through, and we need to do it if we’re ever going to have a hope in hell of recovering from all the hurt we’ve caused each other.”

“I basically cheated on you,” Michael says. “How’re we supposed to get past that?”

“It’s not a competition,” Alex tells him. “But if it were - I left you behind for ten years, refused to see you except in private, and called you a criminal because I let my dad get in my head. None of which even touches on all this shit my family’s done to you and yours.”

Michael’s head snaps up. “No,” he insists. “You do not get to blame yourself for that. You tried to help, you’re still working to put a stop to it.”

“And? It’s still my family’s legacy.”

His spine straightening in a way that says he’s gearing up for a fight, Michael opens his mouth to speak only to pale immediately and clamp a hand over his mouth.

Alex surges out of the chair to meet him as he doubles over, barely managing to rescue the soup in time and keep it from winding up all over the place. Then he finds himself rubbing Michael’s back while heaves into the bucket.

“Christ, Guerin, is this because I’m trying to make you talk about feelings?”

“No,” Michael pants. “It’s because I stupidly played lab rat for Liz and Kyle and now I’m paying the price. God damnit, this is the worst.”

“It does seem like a particularly nasty bug,” Alex allows. “Sometimes those have a silver lining, though, in that they burn out pretty quickly.”

“Oh good,” Michael mutters sarcastically, “I’ll die a little faster then.”

“You are not dying,” Alex shoots back, rubbing a little harder. “Jesus, I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Right,” Michael says, and now sarcasm has given way to a dubious tone, “because you love me.”

“Among other things.” Against his will, Alex finds himself smiling at the absurdity of the situation. “How about I make you a deal? You let me keep an eye on you until the worst of this has passed, and then we can talk like actual adults when you’re back on your feet, hmm?”

Michael gives him a skeptical look as he settles back against the pillows. “That doesn’t really sound like us,” he says dubiously, “but okay.” Then, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, he asks, “Will you stay with me?”

Alex snorts. “Pretty sure I’ve made it clear that’s the plan. This fever of yours might be worse than I thought.”

He’s half expecting Michael to give him a dirty look, but instead he shakes his head earnestly, dislodging sweat dampened curls from his forehead in the process. “No,” he says, scooting over a bit on the bed and patting the newly available space next to him. “I mean, will you stay here?”

“Oh.” Not even bothering to consider the request, Alex nods. “Sure, If that’s what you want.”

They have a long way to go and a lot they need to talk about, but as he’s sliding in next to Michael beneath the sheets, he can’t help but feel like they’ll get there.


End file.
